Boiling Point
by kazalene
Summary: EC - Talk CSI Summer Challenge. When Calleigh gets jealous, she decides to teach Eric a lesson...


**Talk CSI Summer Challenge.**

Elements to include: Beach Towel, Deck Chair, Camera, Volleyball, Sunglasses. (But I also got Flip Flops, Swimming Trunks, and Bikini in there.)

**- - -**

Right, well, this is my first - and probably my last - attempt at the **M** rating. And, on that note, please be aware that **this fic ****is M rated!**

You can all blame **Jodie/Adorelo** for that being the case as well - she _somehow_ got it into her brain that I owed it to her. ((Grumbles)) And she's taking full responsibility for this mess!

Anyway, enjoy... ((runs))

**- - -**

_"O, beware, my Lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on..." (Othello, William Shakespeare.)_

* * *

**Boiling Point**

* * *

You smile to yourself as you feel the sun's heat tickle your body, instinctively arch towards it as you adjust your position in the deck chair. And you're not sure why, but lying perfectly still as the golden rays dance across your skin somehow grants you a feeling of pure contentment.

Bliss.

"See, Calleigh, I told you this was a good idea," Eric sighs next to you, effectively reading your thoughts.

You laugh and glance to the side, meeting the intense dark eyes of the man who'd insisted that you both took a vacation. Cancun, Mexico, had been the compromise - you'd wanted to be close enough so that if the lab needed you, you could catch a quick flight home, but Eric had wanted somewhere far enough away from it that it stopped you from obsessively worrying. Although like _that_ was ever going to happen.

Regardless, however, this vacation was definitely one of his better ideas.

Deciding that your front had endured enough tanning time you flip yourself over and turn so that your head is lying against the flat end of the deck chair. And you reach for your sunglasses, pulling them down over your eyes so you can take a moment to glance around the beach without being blinded by the sun's glare. Your gaze settles onto a group of young women in front of you who are indulging in a game of volleyball, and you roll your eyes when you catch sight of a couple of guys watching the game intently; only you know that it's _not_ the game that they're watching.

And when one pulls out a camera to take a photograph you sigh and look away, feeling a little disgusted. So you turn to look at Eric instead, and he meets your gaze and smiles back at you, a hand reaching out to grab yours to give it a gentle squeeze. "You okay?" he asks, sitting forward in his chair to get a better look at you.

"Yeah," you sigh happily, watching the way that his muscles ripple as he shifts his position slightly. And you know that it's not just the sun that's hot out here.

He's just about to say something to you when you hear a shout and a ball sails past your head, narrowly missing it, and one of the half-naked volleyball players stumbles over. Only she loses her footing as she tries to grab at the ball and crashes down onto Eric, landing square in the middle of his lap. A couple of wolf-whistles are released by the group of guys and you feel yourself glaring. Eric laughs nervously and eyes the woman in his arms, "Uh..." he begins, only to be stopped when said woman plants a kiss on his cheek and says, "Thanks, handsome." And you never thought that you'd be capable of murder, but if you'd have had your gun on you right now you think that it would have taken all of your self-control not to use it.

She catches your eye and winks at you as if to say,_ 'no hard feelings,'_ but you simply shoot an icy stare back at her. And as she stands up, collects her ball and walks away, you turn to look at Eric, see as he watches her go, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

And you lose it.

Saying nothing, you rise from your chair, reach for your towel, your bag and your flip flops, and stride away from the beach, back into the hotel. You hear him calling after you but you ignore it, something in you forcing you to keep walking, anger burning up inside of you. Are you being irrational? Maybe, and it makes you feel even worse.

So as you storm into your hotel room you can't help but scold yourself; you hate that Eric can do this to you, make you lose control of your emotions like this.

But he does.

And you're not surprised when you turn and see him enter the room behind you, his eyes confused and a little hurt. So you sigh and lean yourself against the wall, taking a moment to calm down. But whatever state of control you might have regained is lost as soon as he asks, "What the hell just happened, Cal?"

You flip then, the irrational part of your brain screaming against your skull that he should know. That he shouldn't have to enquire. So you listen to it and state coldly, "You tell me, Eric."

He watches you for a moment, studies you intently, before he releases a sigh and brings his hands to his face, rubbing away the exasperation. "You're being ridiculous, you know that?"

And you do, of course you do, but it only makes it worse. So you flair up again and run a hand through your hair, shaking your head defiantly and adding fuel to the fire. "Well if that's the way you feel, I suggest you go and find your playmate out there and ask her if you can stop with her tonight."

"Calleigh," he warns, taking a step towards you, stopping when you straighten and shoot him an icy stare. "There's no reason to be like this," he tries again, "I love _you_ and you know that."

You do know it, but still you can't fight away the knot in your stomach or shake the vision from your mind of the smile that you saw grace Eric's lips when he came into contact with the leggy volleyball player a few minutes ago. Because it hurts. Because you've never felt this way about anyone before and you've always been insecure about relationships. Even with Eric you worry. You over analyse, over think _every-single-detail_. And he makes you lose control, makes you churn out thoughts and feelings that you've been so used to oppressing.

But said thoughts and feelings are temporarily pushed aside when you realise that he's moved to stand in front of you, his palms coming to rest flat against the wall on either side of your head. And in that moment, all you can see is him. He knows it, too, for he can't help but smirk a little, thinking that perhaps you're finally waking up to how silly you're being, thinks he's got through to you; which only serves to drive you more crazy and you press your hands to his chest, sending him a warning.

Only you're not quite sure you want to do that because there's something about that look he has right now; the smug one. It makes you want to shove him away, scream at him some more and then perhaps, and if you're feeling violent enough, shoot him afterwards. But it does something else to you as well, sends an electric charge through your body that creates a feeling other than anger...

Desire.

And that, mixed with your jealousy, makes for a dangerous combination.

For the next thing you know you're sliding your hands upwards towards his hair as he leans in, capturing your lips with his. He presses his body against you, increases the pressure of the kiss, and you hear yourself moan when you feel the swipe of his tongue. Because there's a little thing that he does with it, and no matter how many times you try to work out just what it is, you just_ can't _put your finger on it.

Another thing that you hate.

So when you feel him smile against your lips you decide that it's time to take a little action, time to show him that he's not the only one capable of taking control. The thought's barely left your mind, however, when he breaks the kiss, instead moving his mouth to your ear where he traces the outside rim and breathes ever so gently into it - the sensation sending shivers down your spine. And you moan again as his lips traverse to your neck, teasing and nipping the skin there, before darting into your nape.

You will your hands to move, though, and as he latches onto your jaw, kissing his way along it, you glide them along his chest, feeling his muscles quiver as your touch trails downwards. You're forced to stop at his stomach, however, when he finds your mouth again and his tongue darts in, then out and then in again; temporarily rendering you useless. And it's only when you feel his hands grip your hips that you realise he hadn't even been touching you; his hands hadn't even been necessary to make you feel like _this._

Predictably, you feel the anger inside of you swell _again_ and you set about trying to accomplish your goal. Which is made increasingly difficult by the dual action of his hands as they begin to trace their way upwards and that God damn tongue of his. And as his hands slip behind your back to untie your bikini you slide your own further south, nails scratching against the hard muscle of his stomach before you find the elastic of his swimming trunks.

He's one step ahead of you, though, and you're forced to stop again as now he's removed your bikini top his hands have replaced it, squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing them to full hardness. And all the while his tongue dances inside your mouth.

So you do the only thing that your body is capable of doing right now...

You moan.

But as soon as his mouth leaves yours and _that_ tongue is withdrawn as he kisses his way down your chest, you regain the use of your hands and take the opportunity to slide them into his trunks.

Your intention is to tease.

And you do, beginning with a soft brush against his erection before you wrap one palm around it in a tight grasp. This time _he_ moans, his head swimming back into view as he looks at you, his breathing a little faster than it had been before.

Knowing that the playing field is level once more you continue with your actions, determined to torture him. And as you roll your thumb lightly over the tip he breathes, "_God,_ Calleigh." So, naturally, you do it again, smiling as he leans forwards, one of his hands coming to rest on the wall behind you, bracing himself, while the other finds your hair as he tries to pull you closer. Your other hand joins in then, gripping the base of his shaft and squeezing once, twice, a third time, before you slide it up gently and bring it back down.

You hear him grunt then, and you shiver as you feel his hot breath on your neck, his head buried there as he tries to regain control. You don't let him, though, instead continue to move in slow movements, alternating with a squeeze or a roll every now and then - just for added torture.

And it is; you can tell. For his breathing increases again and you hear him swallow, letting out a the odd whimper - yes, whimper - as well. You have him _exactly_ where you want him and when he finally gathers enough strength in his vocal cords to mutter, "Calleigh, honey, you're gonna have to stop that," you do the opposite.

You increase the pace, hearing him hiss as your hands grip tighter, your squeezing gets firmer, and your strokes get faster. He grunts a few incoherent phrases against your skin and you smile, knowing exactly what patterns to use to drive him _crazy._

"Cal - " He swallows. "I can't - " You smile as he groans, but just as you're about to apply another thumb roll across his tip he moves his head upwards, his mouth seeking out yours. And as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip you know that you're done for.

Sure enough your movements halt, your entire body captivated by the movement of his tongue inside your mouth. So he takes the opportunity to glide his hands down your chest and over your stomach, reaches inside his trunks and pulls your hands out; instead pinning one on the wall beside your thigh while the other one gets held beside you head. And he presses into you then, makes you moan as his erection brushes against the flimsy material of your bikini bottoms.

Still distracting you with his tongue he brings your lower hand to your higher one and uses his arm to pin them both there, freeing up one of his own hands. And as it works its way down your body, you know that you're in for some payback. Sure enough, his hand reaches its destination and your head rolls back as one of his fingers traces lightly against the crotch of your bikini bottoms. Within an instant, however, his mouth is back on yours and you're forced to bite down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle your moan when he does it again.

He smiles against your mouth, his finger increasing the pressure just a little and you instinctively grind your hips towards it; hating that you do it but knowing that you need it. And you feel him shiver as your head rolls back again and a breathy version of his name escapes your lips; "_Eric..."_

But it only encourages him and he moves a leg between your thighs, parting them a little so that he can touch you more. And as you anticipate his next movement the _oh!_ is already forming on your mouth, finally making a sound when his hand slips into your bikini, two fingers finding your clit and rubbing in a lazy circle. You hold your breath then - it's all you can do - and he does it again, harder, faster this time.

And he chuckles as you bite your lip, your hands trying to break free from where he's pinned them above your head. "_You_ started this," he reminds you, his words dancing against your neck as his mouth begins to tease the skin there. And all the while his fingers continue to touch you, setting your entire body on fire.

You wish that your brain was working properly then, wish that you could think up some snappy reply; but whatever chance you had of doing so is thoroughly ripped up and destroyed when his reach travels down a little and you cry out his name as he slips a finger inside of you. You've barely had a moment to adjust when another finger joins in and he begins to move them in and out, in and out, and in and out of you. But the sensations coursing through your body right now are nothing compared to the feeling you get as soon as his mouth finds yours again, his tongue dipping into it and begging the question: _just_ _how the hell are you still standing?_

But as his thumb starts to roll against your clit and an electric surge travels through your body, dances across your skin and makes you breath hitch, you find that you don't care anymore. Because all thoughts are driven from your brain as his movements pick up the pace, his fingers slide further inside of you and your head falls forwards against his chest, your hips grinding against his hand as you desperately search for your release. And as you feel the first tremor inside of your body, allow a series of gasps to escape you, you know you've found it.

He knows it, too, for his mouth covers yours once more and as his tongue dances against it, your world stops turning and you can't quite breathe. And before you know it you're falling over the edge. And as wave after wave travels through you, he swallows your cries, a smile gracing his lips as he continues to move his fingers, helping you to ride your orgasm out. But it becomes too much and your head rolls backwards, your hands breaking loose and pressing flat against the wall as the current takes over your body, making it quiver and shake with each new quake.

It's mind-blowing and intense, and _Oh-So-Orgasmic!_

And as you begin to recover he slides his fingers out of you and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you to him as you try to catch your breath. You still haven't quite managed it when he pulls back a little to place a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth.

As he pulls away he looks at you, watches as the fog begins to clear from your eyes. And all of a sudden you're not sure whether to be grateful that he can make you feel like that; like _this _- because it makes you feel so God. Damn. _Good; or_ whether you should be angry with him all over again for... _something - _because the ghost of a smirk is playing about his lips.

So you do the only thing that you can think of.

You push him backwards, over to the bed, and watch as he stumbles onto it. He's barely had a chance to work out what's happening when you're reaching for his swimming trunks and pulling them off of him. But he catches up quickly and is already moving up the bed, taking up a more central position, and you follow. And without warning, you straddle him, leaning down to trail a line of fire down his chest as your mouth moves southwards, his body squirming beneath you as you nip and tease at his skin. He reaches for you, though, and tugs you up to his mouth. But you're wise to it and instead move your lips to his jaw, deliberately grinding your hips against his, pressing his erection to your still covered centre. And as you both moan at the contact, you realise that you should do something about that.

He senses it, too, and his hands find the ties on either side of your waist; just two simultaneous tugs are all it takes and the material falls away. You can't help but cry out the Lord's name when he slides it out from under you, the exquisite friction sending a bolt through your body, and tosses it across the room. And as he sits up and his mouth begins to dance across your abdomen, his hands creeping higher, you close your eyes as your head rolls back, enjoying the sensations his creating.

But you're the one who's leading this dance and you grind your hips purposely against him again - knowing that the action is pure torture.

For you both, actually.

Because you're sure that the cry that escapes your mouth is almost as loud as his groan. He lies back down then and moves his hands to your hips, lifting them in a message of urgency. "Calleigh," he pleads, bucking upwards and making his erection brush against your core. "I want - " He stops when you move against him, needing the friction once more to satisfy the ache between your legs.

And dear _God!_ how you need it. So as he lifts your hips once more you help and hover above him before you sink down onto his length, moaning at the welcome intrusion. He releases a groan once you've taken him fully, and you're just about to set the rhythm when he reaches for you again and holds you down, stopping you from moving, and swallowing as he does so. You laugh then and lean down towards him, smirking when he grunts at your movement. "You okay?" you tease, biting down on the lobe of his ear.

He says nothing for a moment, clearly can't, before he forces out, "Funny," his voice low and throaty. You start to move then, catching him off-guard, smiling when you hear him take a sharp intake of breath. Your actions continue, however, and you set a slow and torturous pace. "_Calleigh,_" he groans, lifting his hips in an attempt to make you go faster. And it's nearly enough, but you stand firm - the thrill of teasing him over powering your own needs.

Temporarily, anyway.

For the next thing you know he's flipped you onto your back, and before you have a chance to protest his tongue darts into your mouth, and you know that you're a goner. But it doesn't matter because when you feel him start to move inside of you, at a fast and constant pace, your body writhes and you lift your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust because it just feels _too_ G_ood!_

And as you feel the temperature soar he begins to alternate his strokes, offering you short, sharp and shallow ones before a hard, deep stride. The pace quickens, becomes more intense, and you know that you're close. "_Eric,_" you hear yourself moan and you close your eyes as the pleasure threatens to become too much.

But it's still not quite enough and he senses this, changing the angle of his strides with a slight twist of his hips as he continues to thrust into you. And he's found that sweet spot, hits it several times as you gasp into his mouth, still being tortured by that God forsaken tongue he has. You're forced to grip his shoulders when you feel him press his thumb to your clit and as he begins to roll it one, twice and _O__h God __who's counting anymore!_ you curl your fingernails into his back, an involuntary reaction to everything he's doing to you.

And then with a final thrust and one final roll, you're forced to break the kiss as you feel yourself losing control once more. As he finds that spot on your neck and sucks down hard you well and truly lose it, catapult over the edge, and your mind goes blank, your mouth crying out his name as you clench around him. And as each delicious wave washes over you he continues to move, helping you to ride it out before after one deep thrust and a primal growl he's over, too.

He's breathing is erratic - yours is worse - and you moan again as your body starts to come down from its erotic high. His mouth seeks out yours and he kisses you lightly, no tongue involved this time and you find yourself mentally thanking God because you're not sure that you can take much more.

As you both recover he lifts himself out of you and you both groan at the loss. Then he pulls you close, planting a soft kiss to your head as he wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, placing a quick peck to his pulse point where you feel his pounding heart rate before you glance up to look at him. He smiles down at you and then leans his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes and taking a moment to gather his thoughts. But you watch him wearily when he looks at you again, the smirk threatening to break through. So you brace yourself as he leans down to trace his lips across your ear where he whispers, "You should get jealous more often."

Your first instinct is to hit him, your second to shoot him; but you can't deny the overwhelming thought that maybe, just maybe, Eric had a point. You can't let him think that, though, have to have the final say, so you press your mouth to his chest and breathe, "Don't flatter yourself," hearing him release a throaty chuckle in response.

And you make a mental note to ensure that you flirt with the waiters at dinner - give him a taste of his own medicine.

And you will.


End file.
